


Put Your Emptiness to Melody

by orphan_account



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Bisexual Michael, Blow Jobs, College age Michael, Come Eating, Exhibitionism, F/M, Genital Piercing, Halloween Costumes, Hand Jobs, Lace Panties, Light Dom/sub, Michael finds out he's the Antichrist, Succubus Mallory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-06 00:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21217877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Michael's goes clubbing with his friends and finds trouble on Halloween.





	1. The look of it was as sweet as the sound

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Hebrew taken from a post about endearments on Quora (apologies if incorrect). See end notes for translations. 
> 
> From wikipedia: As depicted in the Jewish mystical work Zohar and the medieval rabbinical text Alphabet of Ben Sira, Lilith was Adam's first wife, who later became a succubus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Hebrew taken from a post about endearments on Quora (apologies if incorrect). See end notes for translations. 
> 
> From wikipedia: As depicted in the Jewish mystical work Zohar and the medieval rabbinical text Alphabet of Ben Sira, Lilith was Adam's first wife, who later became a succubus.

Michael wobbles for the hundredth time tonight in his stiletto boots and decides that maybe Jell-O shots weren’t a good idea for dinner.

His head spins as he moves his body to the thumping bass, but he’s too hammered to care. _Water? Don’t know her_. He’s in the middle of the dance floor with his friends, showing off his Halloween costume under the flashing lights.

The naughty schoolgirl get-up he's chosen—a slutty imitation of his Hawthorne uniform—is more revealing than he’d expected, but he’s thankful for the lack of material now. It's boiling out here among the mass of grinding bodies. Sweat drips down his back and chest and dampens the white halter crop top that ends high above his belly button.

Someone opens the front doors to the club and a breeze flutters up under his skirt, raising goosebumps on his smooth thighs. Michael shivers, delighting in the cool tickle. He's immensely pleased that he spent an hour shaving his legs after his last lecture. 

His current dance partner certainly seems to be enjoying the lack of hair, running his callused hands up and down his legs. The beefy brunette tries to grab his ass _again_ and Michael smacks him away viscously. "Try it one more time, and I'll break your fucking wrist," he snaps. Some people just can’t take a hint.

The guy moves on pretty quickly after that, looking for easier prey. Michael sighs out his relief, glad that the idiot didn’t get confrontational.

His boots are made for walking, not fist-fights.

The hair stands up along the back of his neck then and Michael has to make a conscious effort to keep dancing. He keeps getting the sense that he’s being watched. _But by who?_

Rubbing a hand over his nape, he peers around the dimly lit club and loses his breath.

_Fuck. Me. _

A woman sitting in a private booth has her eyes riveted on him. Her contacts luminesce a freaky green under the black lights. She’s dressed to kill in a black leather dress and strappy heels.

He feels her gaze rake his form and sways his hips provocatively. _Like what you see? _A smirk pulls at his admirer’s red painted lips and she curls a finger at him, beckoning.

Michael’s nipples stiffen with anticipation. He must have reached his limit because he could swear a voice says, _“come to me,”_ over the music. Helpless but to answer the call, he drifts across the floor, weaving in and out of the gyrating bodies in a daze.

Giddy heat swirls in his gut. He’s been in a bit of a rut this semester, uninterested in bedding his usual fair of closeted athletes and girls who only want to fuck him for clout.

When he sidles up to his mysterious woman in black, Michael feels the full effect of her thrall gaze. The space around the booth grows warmer, smaller. She’s even more attractive up close, hair flowing in thick chestnut waves. Her teeny, tiny stature does all kinds of things for his imagination. He thinks about fucking her against a wall, her legs hooked over his elbows, and feels his cock twitch in his panties. He inhales a shaky breath and gets a hit of her drugging scent.

Rich, sweet, alluring.

_Say something, you twat. _He licks the gloss slicking his lips and says, voice breathy, “Uh, hi, I’m Michael. Can I buy you a drink?”

She ignores his question, eyes rapt on his face. “Are you looking for trouble, beautiful boy?” 

With confidence born of alcohol and years of being told he has an uncommonly attractive face, Michael flutters his eyelashes at her and toys flirtatiously with the hem of his skirt. “Maybe I am.” He drags his eyes over the curves of her small breasts, completely covered under her high neckline, before meeting those vivid green eyes again. “Have I found it?”

“Maybe you should come closer and find out, Matòk Shelì.” Her voice is precise and slightly accented.

Michael's cheeks flush with arousal. “Is that Hebrew?” he asks, sliding around the table to sit beside her. It’s not close enough. He leans in so that their faces are scant inches apart and feels a small hand cup his knee, spreading warmth up his leg and into his groin. He imagines her cupping other parts of him and has to stifle a groan. 

“Do you speak it?” his seductress asks, surprise bringing a genuine smile to her face.

Her elation hits Michael like a punch to the gut. Winded, he reaches out to run his fingers down a lustrous section of her hair. _Need to touch her_. “No,” he sighs, answering her question. His brow furrows with disappointment. “I’ve just heard it spoken before.” 

“Don’t fret, kitten,” she says. One hand brushes over the glitter on his cheek as the other settles on his shoulder. “Language isn’t the connection I’m interested in.” Michael feels his heart skip at her admission.

Quicker than he can process, she’s forcing him up against the back of the booth and straddling one of his thighs. The damp press of her silk-covered core to his skin has his eyes rolling back in his head. 

“God,” Michael breathes, meeting her kiss. Her mouth is so warm, tongue strong and slick as it teases against his own. A graze of teeth across his bottom lip makes him whimper. The woman in black fists a hand in his curls and pulls away with a laugh. “Not _God,_” she tells him. "Mallory." Her pupils are dilated with hunger. Michael has time to gulp in a breath before she’s diving back in to devour him again.

He’s levitating. Each slide of their mouths together has raw need rising in his gut. Mallory’s sweet scent intensifies, so thick in the air around them that he’s certain he’ll be smelling her for days to come.

Clever fingers tease a peaked nipple through his top and stroke down his lean belly. Mallory stops with her fingers hovering over his skirt and leans back to assess his expression. Michael’s cock leaps at the suggestion of her touch, bulging under the scrap of black fabric. “Would you like me to touch you, Otzàr?” she asks, eyes hypnotic. She bucks her hips forward, riding his thigh. “I’m aching to give you pleasure.”

“Here?” _In front of a room full of people?_

“Here.”

Michael looks toward the dance floor and realizes that a few couples are already watching them, greedy eyes riveted to Mallory's hand over his crotch. If she strokes him off, everyone will be able to see. Embarrassment and arousal fight for dominance in his brain. He’s never been an exhibitionist. _Then why am I considering it?_

Mallory's fingernails scratch the material directly over his cockhead, pulling his attention back to her. 

“You crave their eyes on you, wicked boy.” Her fingertips tense. “Feel how hard you’re getting.”

_She’s right_. He wants them to see. The primal need to have her control his body—in front of an audience—pulses through him.

“Ask, pretty baby. Say please, touch my cock. Let them see how good you are for me," Mallory coos, coaxing him softly to surrender.

_Fuck it, _Michael thinks, his inhibitions sufficiently lowered by the tequila shots he'd done earlier. Or was it the Jägerbombs? Regardless, he wants whatever orgasm she wants to give him. 

“Yes." He pants, yearning for more of her hands on his flesh. “Yes, Mallory, _please_ touch my cock.”

“Good boy.” In reward, Mallory pushes up his skirt and squeezes his length through his panties. Michael thrills at being so open, so exposed. He sees a redhead at the edge of the dance floor lick her lips seductively and thrust back against her dance partner.

“Lace?” Mallory purrs, grinding her palm against the crimson material covering his shaft. Michael’s eyes dart to her face, nervous, but he relaxes when he sees her expression. If possible, she looks even more ravenous. Undulating into her touch, he bites his lip and nods his head in affirmation. Mallory presses a lingering kiss to his jaw. “Wicked, wicked, boy," she accuses him. "I’d taste you through that lace, but I want to watch your gorgeous face as I bring you off.”

Her hand slips under the waistband of his thong and grips his cock hard. Michael watches her pump him slowly and spurts precome all over her little fist with a strangled noise. He hears someone moan to their right and squeezes his eyes shut in mortification and lust.

Mallory nips at his corded neck and rests her forehead against his collarbone, fascinated by the way his wide crown peeks through the tight circle of her thumb and pointer finger. She rolls the pad of her thumb over his frenulum on the next upstroke.

_Bitch_.

Michael gasps, already trembling from the sensation. He’s not sure if Mallory has magic fingers or if it’s the thrill of being watched that has him so on edge. His hands fly to her waist and squeeze, desperately wanting something to hold on to.

“I could just eat you up, kitten,” Mallory sighs, rocking her cunt against his leg as she takes him apart. Her sneaky thumb gives another shudder-inducing rub to the engorged tissue under his cockhead. “If you were mine, I’d pierce you here. Have you wear a silver ring in this sexy cock.” Michael whines, imagining how it would feel to drag his dick, pierced and owned, through her folds and penetrate the wet heat that he can feel against his leg. 

It’s too much. Arousal burns hotter, transforming into something bigger. Something that pulses at his base and deep in his ass. Michael’s vision blurs. He feels himself swell between them, thickening in preparation to shoot his come._ Already?_

“What—Mallory?” he gasps, confused. He’s never felt anything like the riot of sensation that’s building inside of him. The pressure is going to blow him apart. 

“Shhh, baby,” Mallory whispers to him, grasping his chin and bumping their noses together tenderly. “Don’t be afraid, just let it come. It’ll be so good. I promise.” She sounds as worked up as he is, chest rising and falling in tandem with his. “They’re all watching you,” she tells him, reminding Michael of his audience. “Show them how much my wicked boy loves to come.” 

This is wild. Decadent.

Michael doesn’t know what’s happening to him, but the compulsion in Mallory’s throaty voice is impossible to resist. When the next wave of sensation swells, he lets it crash over him. He keeps his blue eyes locked on glowing green as the levees break and the most powerful orgasm he’s ever experienced rockets through him. “Oh fuck!” he grunts, thrusting up into her fist.

Every muscle in Michael’s body locks up tight, clenching in pleasure so extreme that it toes the line of pure agony. _Am I dying? _He could swear that his soul leaves his body. The whole club seems to pulse with sexual energy, like his orgasm’s triggered a bomb.

Come jets from the tip of his cock and Mallory catches it all in her hand. “Yessss,” she hisses in victory, bringing her prize to her face for a deep sniff. She looks fucked out and radiant, eyes at half-mast and skin dewy like she’s the one who just came her brains out. 

The stripes of come that decorate her fingers and palm are cleaned up with savouring licks of her tongue. Michael enjoys a load as much as the next person, but he’s never seen someone eat come with that much relish. “Jesus Christ, that’s hot.” He slumps against the booth as he watches her progress, suddenly exhausted.

Mallory finishes her treat and tucks his spent cock back into his underwear, smoothing his skirt down over his thighs.

“Mmmmm,” she moans, running her hands through her hair and over her breasts, revelling in her high. “Thank you for the meal, Yekirì.” She darts a glance over her shoulder and smirks. “Your audience thanks you too.”

Michael follows her gaze and sees the redhead from earlier panting, flushed with her release. Her partner is still buried balls deep inside of her. Michael focuses his eyes beyond them spies several men tucking their own cocks back into their jeans. 

Bone deep satisfaction keeps the mortification at bay. Michael blinks, shaking off the depraved images, and looks back at Mallory. Infatuation swells under his sternum. 

“Wow.” 

Mallory laughs gleefully and rises to stand in the V of his splayed legs. Michael doesn’t release her waist. He digs his fingers into the leather under his hands and whimpers in distress, wanting her to stay with him.

She tilts her head consideringly. “Do you want me to take you home, kitten?”

Michael huffs, feeling pathetic, but he doesn't want to be alone right now. “Yes please.”

With surprising strength, Mallory hauls him to his feet. She loops an arm around his waist and holds him upright when he totters in his boots. Michael lets her herd him toward the door, eyes glazed and body weak.

Voices call out for him. _Gallant and Madison_. Michael spares a lazy wave farewell for his friends and smiles at them reassuringly over his shoulder. He fails to recognize their alarm. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” he shouts, voice drowned out by the music.

A few blocks away from the club, a strange thought occurs to Michael. _No one else’s contacts were glowing._

He ducks his head down to look at Mallory’s profile in the moonlight and is struck again by how incredibly alluring she looks. It’s almost…otherworldly. 

She notices his attention and turns her head, eyes flashing eerily in the dark. Her features are thrown into sharp relief for a moment. Michael swallows dryly around the lump in his throat. 

“You're not human, are you?” 

Mallory chuckles. “No, Matòk Shelì, I am not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matòk Shelì = my sweet or sweetheart
> 
> Yekirì = my dear
> 
> Otzàr = treasure
> 
> Series and chapter titles from Hozier's To Noise Making (Sing)


	2. Your head tilt back, your funny mouth to the clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael runs into Mallory again and gets more than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own.

Michael’s walking down the sidewalk, minding his own business, when he sees Mallory again. Or at least he thinks it’s her. It’s hard to tell through the front windows of the little tattoo shop on 2nd St.

He’s walked past Lilith’s Cave everyday for the past two years on his way to catch the Caltrain to Stanford, but he’s never had a reason to stop before. Shielding his eyes from the sun, Michael peers through the glass and spies the face that’s been haunting his dreams for weeks. _It’s her_.

He’d woken up the night after the Halloween party with a raging hangover and murky memories of being tucked into bed by a beautiful woman with glowing green eyes. When he told Madison and Gallant about it that afternoon, they’d laughed off his concerns and asked if he’d been dropping Molly in the bathroom without them. They were relieved that he’d gotten home safely after leaving so abruptly.

Michael brushed off their ribbing good naturedly, agreeing that he’d been wasted, but he hasn’t forgotten the encounter. How can he? In his sleep, he keeps dreaming about fucking Mallory in a puddle of blood, eyes pitch black and face bone white, as the world burns down around them. He’s woken every morning for the past fourteen days terrified and painfully aroused. 

Mallory must know what’s going on. She’d admitted that she wasn’t human. _Hadn’t she? _Michael frowns at how normal she looks right now, eyes a warm brown, features scrunched in concentration as she inks some design on a customer’s neck. Doubt creeps in. _Did I really imagine everything?_

The woman on the other side of the glass looks far removed from the creature who’d seduced him in the club. She looks relaxed, unassuming. A red tank-top leaves bits of creamy skin on display above a pair of worn jeans. She’d been so covered up before, armoured in leather and sex.

Michael eyes the black line of Hebrew scripture inked from the top of Mallory’s sternum all the way down between her breasts and feels his mouth water. He wishes he could read what it says. Her toned arm works the tattoo gun, needling in more colour, and draws his eyes to the splashes of deep green peeking out from the edges of her shirt. The hidden tattoo on her back must be massive, spanning the width of her shoulders and the length of her spine.

Michael’s feet carry him into the shop before he can think better of it. He just wants to talk to her. He needs to know if what he's been seeing is real or if he’s having a psychotic break. 

\--

Mallory hears the jingle of the bell above the door and whips her head up, looking at him with surprise.

Michael looks back with the same face. 

_Fuck_. He’d forgotten how hard it is to think when that stare, dark and suggestive, is directed at him. A hint of electric green sparks around the edges of Mallory’s irises and Michael feels his cock stir to attention. 

Mallory flares her nostrils delicately and Michael gets the distinct impression that she’s smelling his reaction to her. He waves at her weakly, face burning as she smirks, reading him clearly. The buzz of the tattoo gun cuts out.

“Otzàr,” Mallory says in her lilting accent, beaming. “I’ve been waiting for you to find me.” The heart-stopping curve of her lips shows just a hint of white teeth and scarcely visible fang. Michael has to resist the urge to throw himself at her feet in supplication_. _He makes a silent apology to his liver because he was truly on the verge of alcohol poisoning if he missed the threat of those teeth before_._

“W-What?” he stutters, confused by her statement. _Find her? _She’s the one who disappeared and then decided to take a starring role in his dreams. Was it supposed to be a game? Because he’s not laughing. “What the fuck are you and what have you done to me?!” he demands.

Mallory looks away from him, raising a gloved hand in pause and swipes a liquid-soaked gauze pad over her client’s neck. “Hang on, kitten. Let me finish up here,” she says, seemingly unbothered by his outburst.

When she’s finished cleaning all traces of stray ink and blood away, the man on the table sits up and rolls his hulking shoulders with a groan.

He has horns.

“Holy shit!” Michael squeaks, flinching with alarm. He grabs onto a body jewelry display for support, knees weak.

“Thanks, Mal,” the guy— thing groans, pulling his shirt back on over his head. “I’ll leave your money at the till, yeah?” Mallory nods distractedly, already disassembling and wiping down her equipment. 

Michael watches the monster drop a wad of cash near an antique register on the desk separating the small waiting room from Mallory's tattoo station and plasters himself up against the glass box at his back. The freak moves to walk past him and bares his teeth at Michael in a snarl. Michael can only meep and clench his asshole in fear.

“Asmodeus,” Michael hears Mallory bark, “that’s your prince you’re trying to intimidate.” But that can’t be right. The guttural noises that escaped her mouth definitely weren’t English.

Asmodeus closes his lips, hiding his _many_ rows of _pointy_ teeth, and looks at Mallory over his shoulder. “He doesn’t look like much,” he says, raising an unimpressed brow. “I thought he was supposed to have seven heads and ten horns or something?”

“Trust the Christians to get it wrong,” Mallory says with a shrug. “But it’s certainly him.”

Asmodeus turns his attention back to Michael and blatantly runs his eyes up and down his body, assessing and admiring all at once. “You know,” he starts in that harsh language again, “I could take him off of your hands if you’d like. He’s rather pretty.” His eyes linger on Michael’s crotch like he can see the panties underneath his black slacks. “It’s been forever since I’ve had a pretty bird like that…” 

Michael sees Mallory freeze in the corner of his eye. She shucks her rubber gloves with snap. “Try it and I’ll cut your fucking head off and mount it on my wall like an eight-point buck,” she says, fingers curling into claws at her sides. 

“Oh, so it’s like that,” Asmodeus breathes, not taking his eyes off of Michael.

Mallory leans forward slightly like she’s preparing to pounce. “Yeah. It’s like that.”

Asmodeus growls in discontent and, after a tense moment, turns away to march out of the shop. The bell shakes dramatically like it’s going to fall to the floor from the force that he uses to slam the door shut. 

Michael takes a breath, mouth still gaping, and pants, “what the fuck?”

Mallory moves around the counter and stalks past him to lock the door. “Good riddance,” she mutters, expression thunderous. She’s there then, in front of Michael, reaching out to brush her fingers along his jaw. He closes his mouth with a muted click.

“My poor boy, that must have been a shock. Is this the first time you’ve been able to see the demons?” Mallory asks.

“Demons! Is that what that was?” Michael flinches away from her hand. “Is that what you are?”

Mallory pouts, put out that he's denied her caress. “Come sit in the back with me, kitten. I’ve still got some cleaning to do. I promise that I’ll answer all of your questions.”

Michael follows Mallory's retreating form because what the fuck else is he supposed to do? That thing could still be lurking outside in the shadows, waiting to tear him a new asshole. 

Waltzing past the partition, Michael plops himself in the leather chair Mallory directs him to and watches as she gets a glass of water from a dispenser in the corner. Brow raised threateningly, she forces the Dixie cup into Michael's hands and makes him drink the whole thing down. When the colour returns to his face, she nods to herself and gets to work wiping down the tattoo table and prep counters. "Fire away, Matòk Shelì," she prompts him, voice irritatingly blasé.

Michael runs his hands through his hair, mussing it hopelessly and thinks about his first question. “Are you a demon too?” he asks eventually. 

“A Succubus, yes,” Mallory says, eyes focused on her work. The back and forth movement of her hand with the anti-bacterial cloth is soothing. The way that she’s bent over the table isn’t bad either. Michael sneaks a look at her cleavage and has to re-direct himself from thoughts of palming her small mounds. _Would she like that?_ She didn’t really let him touch her on Halloween. 

He swallows, mind spinning, and recalls that a Succubus is some kind of sex demon. “Did you do some freaky sex magic on me at the club?”

Mallory’s eyes laugh at him when she looks up from under her lashes. “Nothing you didn’t want, wicked boy. Very light compulsion and pheromones to draw you closer, nothing more. The energy that you generated with your orgasm was enough to keep me fed for a week.” 

Misguided pride swells in Michael’s chest. _Damn straight_. However, the thought of Mallory feeding off of other people like that has a frown pulling at the corner of his mouth. Mallory misses his dark look entirely and licks her lips. “I should expect nothing less from the Antichrist.”

“What!” Michael squawks unattractively. “Is that what you meant by prince? That I’m the son of the devil?” 

Mallory hums and plants herself on a rolling stool, swinging her sneaker clad feet back and forth. “Has anything strange ever happened to you, Michael? Anything that you couldn’t explain?” Her knowing eyes pin him to his seat. “Crows flying overhead when you’re experiencing strong emotion, a gnawing urge to do violence...the strange birthmark behind your ear?” 

The bottom drops out of Michael’s stomach. _How does she know about all of that? _He feels like his brain’s been dunked in molasses and left to drip-dry in the hot sun. “My grandmother said that I was an abomination,” he tells her, eyes unseeing as he recalls the events that tainted his childhood._ Killing small animals, scaring other children, speaking in tongues_. His grandmother, Constance, made it clear from an early age that she took no pleasure in raising him; a child conceived of rape, dropped on her doorstep by a traumatized girl. She kept him around out of pity and as penance for the sins of her son, Tate.

“Abomination!” Mallory hisses with displeasure, jolting Michael out of his memories. “That woman was an abomination. Lung cancer was the least of what the old bat deserved for the way that she treated you.”

Michael cocks his head, confused. “You knew my grandmother?”

With effort, Mallory unclenches her fingers from around the edges of her stool and tightens the ponytail on the top of her head. “Your father—” at Michael’s look, she clarifies, “your real father, Satan, used Tate Langdon as a vessel to help conceive an heir. The tainted are always easier to possess." Michael recalls the shark like eyes in the photo that Constance kept of Tate and thinks that tainted is a good word for it. He nods his understanding at Mallory and she continues. "When your mother was confirmed to be pregnant, I was sent to this plane to keep an eye on you.” Something wistful enters her eyes. “I kept tabs from a distance. I wanted to take you from Constance, but my master forbade it. When I found out that you had been accepted at Stanford, I set up shop here in San Francisco to wait for your ascension. The blood moon on Samhain told me that it wouldn’t be long.”

Michael narrows his eyes and tries to do the mental math. _How old is she anyway? _Mallory doesn’t look a day over twenty-five. 

He can’t deny that it hurts to learn that he was a job—a prized sheep to look after. Revelations about being the Antichrist aside, he really felt like he had a genuine connection with Mallory that night in the club. Michael's never let somebody control his body that way before. He's never let anyone close enough to try. Emotions a snarl, Michael sets his back teeth and grinds his jaw angrily. “Was the sex some kind of professional perk? You thought you’d collect your dues for your years of loyal service?” 

Mallory’s face looks like he’s slapped her. She blinks a few times, chagrinned, and considers her response. “You weren’t something I knew I wanted, until I saw you dancing in that club. I didn’t know the young man tantalizing everyone with glimpses of his body, not really, yet I was still inexplicably...attached. It seems that casual observation grew into infatuation right under my nose." She shifts uncomfortably, picking at a hole in her jeans. "I wanted to murder every person who touched you, but I called you to me instead.”

Michael hears nothing but honesty in Mallory's words. And isn’t that strange. He’s never been able to sense something like that before. The hardness melts slowly from his face, mouth and eyes softening. He remembers the tender way that she tucked him into bed and feels his heart give one great leap of terrified hope. “I’m glad that you did,” he says quietly. Mallory’s eyes meet his and that low resonance from before buzzes between them again.

The smile Mallory pulls out is so bright that several seconds pass before Michael realizes that she’s asked him a question. “What?”

Mallory huffs with amusement. “I asked if there’s anything that else you want to know, Yekirì.” Her eyes sparkle. “I just told you that you’re the devil’s spawn.”

Michael shifts his weight forward and rubs his hands up his legs, suddenly incredibly nervous about the whole Antichrist thing. “Is there like an instruction manual that I can read or something?”

\--

Michael and Mallory spend half an hour talking about what Michael can expect when he ascends and comes into his powers. The 'ushering in the apocalypse' bit is a little daunting, but Mallory assures him that she’ll be with him every step of the way. 

She’s infectious. Michael lets her tease him about how different he looks outside of his slutty school girl costume and enjoys the easy way that they flirt with each other. 

High on her presence, he presses up behind her and watches as she pulls a batch of piercing tools out of the autoclave. He settles his hands on her waist, admiring how his fingertips almost touch, and leans down to murmur in her ear, “are you using your pheromones on me again?”

Mallory tilts her head, exposing her neck to him and flutters her lashes coquettishly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Liar,” Michael breathes, watching goosebumps rise on her flesh. The micro-expressions that flit across Mallory’s face have him chuckling low and pressing his lips against her pulse. “Oh yeah, that’s something I can do now.” 

Mallory swears enthusiastically. “Wicked boy.”

Pushing his hips into her ass teasingly, Michael takes the opportunity to mouth at the ink on her shoulder. “What an exhausting afternoon,” he purrs. “I think I’ve earned a treat for how well I took the news that I’m the prince of darkness.” Mallory’s shiver makes him bold. “I think you should show me your tattoos.”

Mallory sets the tray of tools down on the stainless-steel counter with a clatter and turns around in his arms. She nibbles her bottom lip with a little fang and reaches down without hesitation to cup his cock. Michael realizes very quickly that he shouldn't have started something that he may not be able to finish. 

“I’ll take my shirt off if you tell me why you haven’t been able to take your eyes off of my needles,” Mallory tells him. She leans in and pushes up on her toes so that her lips are hovering right in front of his. “Are you looking to get _skewered_, kitten?” Her hold on him tightens, strangling his shaft.

Michael swallows, squirming in her viselike grip and darts another look at the gleaming metal. “I may have done some googling...”

“Oh really?”

Embarrassed, Michael nods and ducks down to distract her with a kiss. Mallory allows him to take possession of her mouth for a moment, moaning softly against his lips, before pulling away. “Well, Matòk Shelì. If you’re interested, I’ll do it free of charge.”

The thought of Mallory sticking a needle in the tip of his dick is a lot more arousing than it sounds. Michael’s always liked a little slap with his tickle. He groans, imagining the pinch of her fingers in those rubber gloves and the sting of cool metal in his flesh. “Okay,” he says, voice strained, leaning forward for another kiss.

“First things, first,” Mallory rasps against the seam of his lips, “my half of the deal.” Slowly, she grabs the hem of her tank-top and pulls it off over her head. 

Michael’s eyes widen in appreciation of her unbound breasts. They're a little less than a handful each; perfect for nibbling. Her pink nipples pout sweetly, stiffening up under his gaze, and Michael falls on her like a man possessed. Mallory’s little grunt as he licks over a peak is music to his ears. The way that his saliva shines on her flesh under the shop lights is arresting. Shaking himself, Michael moves on to brush his lips over the line of script that’s inked from the middle of her collarbones all the way down to her belly button. “What does this say?” he asks, nipping at a character with his blunt teeth. He looks up to meet Mallory’s eyes and sees that they’re glowing completely green. 

“It’s a bit of a warning really, the mark of a sex magic practitioner. A parting gift when I was cast out.” 

_That’s not cryptic at all. _Michael chews over her words and spins her around gently to get a look at the artwork on her back. _Holy shit_.

The portrait in front of him is gorgeous. And familiar. _I've seen this before_. Michael thinks back to the Early Modern Art class that he took in his first year of college and identifies the tattoo as John Collier’s Lilith. The red lady and her snake are depicted in full, painstaking glory on Mallory’s skin. 

Michael strokes a finger over the body of the snake and feels all of the breath leave his lungs. “Were—has your name always been Mallory?”

Rolling into the touch like a cat, Mallory peeks at him over her shoulder, green eyes uncharacteristically shy. “No...”

The way that she braces herself for rejection, shoulders curving forward, shielding her heart, tears at Michael’s insides. He presses a lingering kiss to the centre of her spine and whispers, “Eve turned out to be a dumb bitch anyway.”

Mallory’s giggle is a little wet, but Michael lets it go graciously. When she’s composed, she spins around and pushes him up against her tattoo table with that uncanny strength. 

“Drop your pants, baby,” Mallory says with a discrete sniffle, shooting him a mean grin. “And don’t feel that you need to maintain an erection.”

Immortal breasts defying gravity, Mallory sets about getting her supplies ready, grabbing the sterilized tray with needles and glass tubes, a selection of rings, alcohol swabs and rubber gloves. By the time she gets back to him, Michael’s stripped off his black dress shirt and pants, standard fare for law students, and is down to just his underwear.

As if magnetized, Mallory's eyes drop to his groin and devour the sight of his emerald green satin thong. “The panties weren’t a one off then,” she says, delighted. 

“Afraid not.” 

Mallory licks her lips, drifting closer with her supplies. “Better drop those too, Otzàr." She winks. "Love the colour.” Michael feels his face fill with heat, a blush spreading to stain his neck and chest. He might have chosen them that morning with her in mind.

Coming to a stop in front of him, Mallory sinks gracefully to her knees as he peels away his last line of defence. She tears open packages with practiced efficiency and pulls on a pair of gloves. Her gaze stays fixed on Michael’s cock, now at half mast, as she wraps a hand around the base and sets about cleaning the tip with an alcohol swab. “So, were you thinking Prince Albert or Jacob’s ladder?” she asks conversationally.

Michael’s quiet while he considers his options. The drag of the swab across his skin is almost unbearably intimate. By the time Mallory’s finished, he’s well on the way to overstimulation. “A prince for a prince,” he tells her eventually, voice slightly shaky. 

Every piercer has their own technique, but Mallory prefers to use a hollow glass tube to open the urethra and save the area from the scrape of the needle. “Tight pinch,” she warns him, pushing the tube down into his cockhead.

Michael’s so distracted by the burn of the tube that the bite of Mallory’s large bore needle, sliding down his dilated opening and punching through to the outside, isn’t actually that bad. The eye-wateringly intense pain fades quickly to a persistent ache that sparks pleasantly in his gut. Mallory removes the needle and tube with precision and asks, “barbell or ring, kitten?”

“Ring,” Michael gasps, strangely fascinated by the blood welling from the underside of his cock. Mallory glances up at him quickly, as if to check that he's doing okay and feeds a silver hoop through the hole in his frenulum and up through his tip. She screws a tiny ball into one end of the ring, securing it closed.

Finished, Mallory removes her gloves and says, “normally I’d bandage it, but since you’re not technically human I thought I’d offer to heal it another way.” She licks over her bottom lip and tongues a fang seductively. “Can I suck your cock, Matòk Shelì? I want to feel that sexy ring on my tongue.”

Mallory’s scent, a base note in the room until now, kicks up. _Dirty pool_, Michael thinks, his sore cock plumping up in response. Lucky for Mallory, he doesn’t feel need to debate the healing properties of Succubus saliva. “Oh God, _please_,” he begs, fists clenching at his sides.

The triumph in Mallory’s eyes gives away how hungry she is. “Yesss,” she hisses diving forward and lapping at the blood on his tip. She mewls with that first taste, eyes fluttering shut. “My wicked boy, you taste so good.” She fists him tightly and kisses his new ring. “I’ve been craving another hit of your come since I left you that night.” Her other hand cups the warm weight of his balls and tugs slightly, coaxing precome to bead on the crown.

Mallory wastes no more time guiding Michael between her lips and sucking him down deep. The wet heat of her mouth is excruciating. Michael pants as she bobs, his breath seeming to fill his body from his heart to his cock. Something primal rises in his gut at the sight of Mallory’s lips stretched around his girth. The sensation of her expert, sucking pressure builds into something so good it’s almost frightening. Michael whimpers, hands twitching toward her head and grates out, “fuck, Mallory. Can I just—" 

Mallory pulls off with a dirty pop, swirling her tongue around the crown on the way up. Lips swollen and eyes half-lidded with pleasure, she asks, “do you want to fuck my mouth, Michael?” 

Want attacks him, leaping up from some pit deep inside of him and clawing it’s way up his back. It’s the first time she’s used his name instead of an endearment. “Yes, _please_,” he says roughly, winding the fingers of one hand into her long ponytail. Mallory tilts her head back and opens her mouth wide, obliging. Michael’s brain fuses. His mind can hold nothing but the savage need to push back between her lips; to possess. Jealousy from earlier, banked in the wake of her revelations, burns anew in his eyes. He wants to own Mallory’s mouth. Wants to be the only one feeding her. 

Gripping himself, shaft tacky with her spit, Michael brings his pierced and weeping head to slap harshly against Mallory’s cheeks before brushing along her lower lip. _Mine_, he thinks, a low growl breaking from his chest. Mallory’s eyes glow brighter, pleased with his instinct to mark her face with his blood-streaked precome. She lets him fill her back up, relaxing her throat as he pushes his cock deep into her mouth. Michael’s hand flexes against the back of her skull to hold her for it. 

He starts with small thrusts, building his confidence, before he fucks her mouth in earnest. Mallory doesn’t seem to have a gag reflex. She takes him with ease, inhaling breaths through her nose on the withdrawals and moaning wantonly around him before her air’s cut off. Michael’s so absorbed by the sight of his cock disappearing between her lips that he almost doesn’t recognize the sound of her zipper lowering. 

Curiosity gets the better of him. Blinking reluctantly, Michael drags his eyes away from Mallory's face and looks down. _Oh_. _Holy fuck_. Mallory’s plucking at a nipple with one hand while the other, tucked in the open fly of her jeans, pumps between her legs.

Michael’s hips buck, ring skipping along the roof of her mouth. A desperate noise escapes from behind his teeth. Watching Mallory fuck herself with her fingers while he plunders her mouth has blinding pleasure rising inside of him. Mallory feels his shaft pulse against her tongue and releases her nipple to grip his balls again, twisting cruelly.

Michael feels his seed climb inside of him, the breadth of his orgasm so great and overwhelming that he whimpers in pleasure-pain. Anxiety seizes his chest, stuttering his breath for a moment, but Mallory holds him with her verdant gaze. The gravity of her eyes and the subtle scrape of a fang pulls him over the edge.

“We’re going to do this again,” Michael wheezes, trying to make it sound like a statement instead of a question.

He’s delirious as he comes, face twisting up with a hoarse shout and abdominal muscles clenching violently. Mallory cries out around his cock and slides her hand to his hip to pull him all the way down her throat. Her nose digs into his pubic bone as she swallows each thick pulse of his release.

Empty cock deflating, Mallory pulls off of Michael and rests her forehead against his quivering thigh. She stares at his now perfectly healed piercing, muttering feverishly in Hebrew, and shamelessly friggs her clit with her thumb. The heaving mess, formerly known as Michael, regains enough control of his brain function to tell her how beautiful she is as she unravels there at his feet, eyes rolling back in her head.

\--

The scent in the room, a potent mix of pheromones and come, is fantastic. Michael takes a deep breath, luxuriating at the burn in his lungs, and releases it slowly. He turns his face to the side and buries a come-drunk grin between Mallory’s breasts. They’re cuddled up naked on the padded tattoo table, his head pillowed on her chest.

Mallory rakes her fingers through his blond curls and sighs with contentment. She’s glowing in the way that only a well fed Succubus can, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. “Thank you, Otzàr,” she murmurs, giving his scalp a hard scratch with her nails.

Michael’s eyes droop, growing sleepier by the moment. “What do those names you call me mean?” he asks, slurring slightly. 

Mallory ducks her chin and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Otzàr means treasure.” Another kiss. “Matòk Shelì means my sweet.” A deep inhale of the sweat-ripened scent trapped in his hair. “Yekirì means my dear.”

It’s silent for a moment as both of them contemplate the sentiment behind the pet names. “I dreamt of you,” Michael confesses. “After you left—I dreamt about us fucking in a pool of blood. Everything around us was burning.”

Mallory hums, the sound a vibration under Michael's ear. “A portent of things to come, my prince. Don’t worry, it will all make sense in time.”

Michael draws a fingertip down her middle, following the line of her ink. His brows furrow in consternation. He didn't actually get an answer to his strangled question before he came. “Did you mean it when you said that you were infatuated? Because I would really like to do this again.”

A small hand grabs his chin and tips his face up. Emotion shimmers in Mallory's eyes, unguarded and genuine. “I care about you, Michael,” she says, words ringing true in his ears. “You would do me a great honour if you would be mine.” 

Michael’s blue eyes smolder up at her, hazy with the knowledge that their coupling will end in death and destruction. “Most of the relationships in my life have consisted of one-sided attachment and intense loathing,” he says, voice strangely even. “Belonging to someone sounds like a nice change of pace.”

Mallory preens and pets his mussed hair. “As the Antichrist commands.”

Michael huffs and rolls his eyes. “Ave Satanas,” he gusts out, the words coming to him suddenly.

Outside of the shop, a murder of crows circles overhead.

Mallory's back tattoo:

Lilith (1887) from the Lilith Wikipedia page

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a piercer nor do I know anyone with a dick piercing, sorry if I've misrepresented any part of the process. Mallory does not follow sterile technique, but Michael's the Antichrist and germs can't keep him down.

**Author's Note:**

> Matòk Shelì = my sweet or sweetheart
> 
> Yekirì = my dear
> 
> Otzàr = treasure
> 
> Series and chapter titles from Hozier's To Noise Making (Sing)


End file.
